love soul cried tears, pain, sorrow, crying
heart sings its sad song
one hand, tired, after
from his palace, from his window admiring
white tear that poetry as art, art that starts
passion for you, my beloved, my wife, my soul sister
... and that is the Taj Mahal is this: poetry as art, a love song, a work that only a soul sublime love would be able to offer the world. There, just above the entrance portico, you can read some verses of the Quran that describe the paradise that gives you an idea of \u200b\u200bwhat we will find and what we feel, as magic words, bronze door that we find a "pearl palace surrounded by gardens."
There is nothing deeper to any traveler to sit in one of the benches found throughout the Garden of Paradise and admire the impressive Mausoleum silhouette silhouetted against a clear sky, which gradually stains pink at dusk while in the background, outside the temple in the city, Agra , a small town to the north of India in the state of Uttar Pradesh , we hear the chants and prayers of these people own. So while we admire the magnificent perfection of the whole, its symmetry, the ponds, a perfect golden key and open the way toward the marble temple, among lotus flowers floating on the water, our mind wanders absorbed , lonely, forgotten by both tourists and around us, and we remember almost with tears in his eyes the sad story of Emperor Shah Jahan.
Shah Jahan to his beloved Arjumand met in a bazaar where it was selling crystals. Admired for her beauty was not able to speak to him at first, pursued by the armies of his father, the Emperor, because of that relationship, after two wives and five years since that first meeting, were united in marriage. Arjumand became known as Mumtaz Mahal, "the chosen of the palace." For years they were a loving couple, who lived for one another, she was his faithful companion in all his campaigns, he showered her with gifts, details, flowers, diamonds. After the death of Emperor Jehangir, Shah Jahan ascended the throne. Two years later, in 1630, tragedy struck ...
There, sitting on the bench, with the last rays sun reflected in that work of art, while my gaze was directed towards the silhouette that was emerging in the pond, I thought the final sequence ... in full military campaign in Burhanpur, the new emperor had warned that the 13 th birth his wife was complicated. Shah Jahan was in despair at his shop, just in time to take her hand and give him his last goodbye. The emperor and was never the same. Retreated to the Red Fort on the left bank of river Yamuna , where he lived, trapped by his son, the last years of his life, leaving the Empire in the hands of his successors. Opposite the fort, visible from all windows, and across the river, he built the most impressive Mausoleum human mind could ever conceive. The best builders, the best workers, the best jewelry, the best stones ... everything was a little to the resting place of his beloved, even, was diverted to the Yamuna Taj Mahal could be reflected in its waters. And there, after two decades of construction, in 1648, was buried his beloved Mumtaz Mahal. And there, beside her, was buried years later the Emperor himself to repose always be together forever.
Slow, sad on the one hand, impressed by the other, happy to meet any traveler's dream, I walked through the gardens, so symmetrical, so colorful, so natural. As if it were a delicacy, that I left for the final artwork. And there, after climbing the first rungs of access, near the Mausoleum became more massive, more impressive. Something that you love, a force that leads you to want to play with your own hands and discover that the marble is not a dream or an illusion. And awe admiring the many jewels that are embedded in its facade: lapis lazuli, jasper, malachite, turquoise, carnelian ... Inside, alas, the chamber in which lie both true, it is visited, only able to visit a first burial chamber, very large with windows that play with the colors of the sun's rays that enter it. Inside, the visit is short, and the dream is true, we will always remember the image is on the outside ... slowly I turn my steps towards the outskirts of the assembly, along the pond ... there at the end of the pond, turning my gaze back and dedicate those last few minutes to admire the Taj Mahal again ... to see how the sun begins to hide behind the dome, after the towers ...
http://locuraviajes.com/blog/taj-mahal-una -history-of-love /
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